


what have i done with my heart on the floor?

by arekiras



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Jupeter Week, Jupeter Week 2019, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Other, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, Presumed Dead, Reunions, and peter gets a much deserved hug, basically peter thinks juno is dead but he ISN'T
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 22:01:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19876756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arekiras/pseuds/arekiras
Summary: 'Peter remembers the sound his comms had made when he threw it against the wall of his hotel room. The screen cracked, but the report continued out of the tinny speakers. “This election week was not without its casualties, however,” the news reporter said. “Former Mayor Pilot Pereyra has been reported missing and presumed dead somewhere in the Martian desert, along with Private Detective Juno Steel, local investigator in Hyperion City.” The comms shattered easily under Peter’s sharp heel, but the words still rang in his ears.'Juno fakes his death and leaves Hyperion City behind immediately following the events in Old Town. Peter encounters a very familiar face upon taking up with Buddy Aurinko and her team of thieves.Written for Jupeter Week 2019 day three: AU





	what have i done with my heart on the floor?

Peter hasn’t pulled off a job in months. He’s had multiple opportunities, of course, he’s heard tappings and gotten tips from contacts. But his heart just isn’t in it, he finds it exceedingly difficult to don the mask. His fingers slip on his lockpicks, grip clumsy in a way it hasn’t been in decades. 

He can’t help but blame himself for his misfortune. If he had just turned his back on Hyperion City, the entirety of Mars, like he had sworn to himself he would, this wouldn’t be happening. But Martian elections are always frightful things and he couldn’t help but feel… concern. Juno always manages to land himself directly in the middle of frightful situations and Peter knew that if he kept his ear to the ground long enough he’d hear the detective’s name. And he had. 

Following  _ whatever  _ it was that occurred in Old Town Hyperion following the landslide election, Mars was plastered on every news stream for a week. 

Peter remembers the sound his comms had made when he threw it against the wall of his hotel room. The screen cracked, but the report continued out of the tinny speakers. “This election week was not without its casualties, however,” the news reporter said. “Former Mayor Pilot Pereyra has been reported missing and presumed dead somewhere in the Martian desert, along with Private Detective Juno Steel, local investigator in Hyperion City.” The comms shattered easily under Peter’s sharp heel, but the words still rang in his ears. 

His stomach dropped straight into the floor, and kept plummeting. It’s been almost half a year, but he can still feel his heart ache with the pain of it. A keen sense of loss he hasn’t experienced in twenty years. He doesn’t remember it hurting this much, the hollowness inside. A genuine, physical pain he can’t break free from. His hands shake most of the time, these days, and his words escape him. He finds himself stumbling over the details of his aliases, even when alone, never mind what might happen if he was actually in the middle of a job and needed to remember the information. 

One does not have a lucrative career as a master thief without ferreting some savings away, however, so Peter is not rendered immediately destitute. However, the well is running a little dry, so when he is put into contact with a group of thieves looking to expand their number, he’s hardly going to say no. Especially not to  _ Buddy Aurinko _ , living legend that she is. She seems to know that he hasn’t taken a job in quite some time, but isn’t bothered by it, if he can assume by her voice over the comms. But he assumes very little about her, so it’s hard to be sure. 

She made contact with one of his more broad aliases, Adrian King, more of a placeholder name than anything. He has to have something of a professional reputation, but cannot use his own name, so Adrian was born. He’s very similar to Peter in most aspects, mainly in that he doesn’t share much personal information, so it will be a simple enough guise. And, if Peter is being honest with himself, he could use the company. Perhaps in working with a group he’ll regain whatever it is he lost along with Juno. 

He comforts himself with this thought as he follows the broad back of Jet Sikuliaq across the bustling Venusian spaceport. This, in and of itself, is a bit disconcerting. He’s never met Sikuliaq directly, but when the RUBY7 went missing right out from under his own nose a few weeks after his and Juno’s… departure from one another, he had assumed it had been the original owner come to reclaim her. 

Jet is not a talkative man, which suits Peter just fine. The fifteen minute walk to the rather unassuming ship is silent, save for the moment that Jet pointed the ship out to Peter. The gate to the cargo bay is open, hanging open like the bottom jaw of a great yawning mouth, and Peter can see several figures standing around just within it. 

He slaps an easy smile on his face and affects casual posture, hauling his rolling luggage behind him. His eyes take in the distinctive red hair of Buddy Aurinko and a narrower, green haired woman standing next to her, like a shadow with teeth. The RUBY7 gleams a slightly sickly shade of lime in the harsh lights of the spaceport, but this is not what makes Peter stumble over his own feet. 

The lady leaning against the car is short, and stout. His hair is dark and in tightly coiled curls, a bit longer than Peter remembers. His face, too, has more scars, particularly around his right eye, which is made of glass. But his tan trench coat is the same, Peter is sure of it. He can see the tear in the left lapel that was there the last time he saw it. 

Juno’s mouth quirks into a slightly surprised smile. “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?” he asks, jokingly. But his eyebrows are pulled down worriedly, and Peter distantly knows that he must look like the universe’s biggest fool. In that moment, whatever disguise he had managed to cloak himself in slips away, leaving him utterly exposed, visible to the naked eye. 

“ _ Juno _ ,” he chokes out, mounting the ramp up to the ship and dropping his luggage, throwing his arms around Juno tightly enough that he almost topples them both over. But Juno catches them on the side of the car and then wraps his arms around Peter, who has his coat held fast in two tight fists. “I thought you were dead,” Peter hisses into the side of Juno’s head, face nestled against his temple. 

The part of Peter that is a thief more than he is even human knows that they’re being watched, but he doesn’t care. If he lets go of Juno now he might die, or worse, he’ll cry. The only thing keeping him grounded, and the tears from flowing, is the feel of Juno’s hands on his back, one of them shifting a little as if to comfort. 

Juno shifts his face so his mouth his hidden from view and says, “I’m fine, Nureyev.” At that, Peter pulls away far enough to look at him, really look at him. He looks healthier than Peter has ever seen him. The dark bags and deep lines under his eyes are absent, like he’s been resting, and the shoulders under Peter’s hands are stronger, a bit more packed with muscle. For once, he isn’t injured. No scrapes, no bloody bandages, no broken bones. 

Peter sniffs, trying to regain a bit of dignity. “So you are.” 

“I didn’t know you knew Adrian, Juno,” Buddy says, eyebrow arched. Peter feels hot embarrassment flood him, but she only looks curious, and a little sympathetic. 

Juno deflects that, saying only, “I didn’t know how to get in touch with him after Hyperion,” to explain away Peter’s reaction. Buddy’s mouth quirks, and Peter knows she noticed, but she only nods. 

“I take it you can handle the tour, then,” she says, already taking the hand of the green haired woman and walking away. Jet claps Peter on the shoulder hard enough that he nearly topples, and follows, leaving them alone in the cargo bay. After a moment, the great yawning door closes, the silence ringing. 

Peter is at a complete loss of words, simply staring at Juno, waiting for him to disappear. Juno takes Peter’s luggage in one hand, and Peter’s hand in the other, leading him out of the cargo bay. His skin is warm and calloused, and Peter revels in the contact. Juno begins talking, rambling about the ship as he leads them on a rather stunted tour before heading to Peter’s assigned room. “It’s small, but it locks. Rita can override the lock, obviously, but you know,” Juno stops in the doorway, shrugging. “Uh, you’ll have to get creative about storage.” 

Peter nods dumbly, following Juno inside, sitting on the bed when Juno indicates it to him. Juno sits beside him, the door hissing closed behind them. “I’m… I’m really sorry, Nureyev. I would have told you, if I could,” Juno finally whispers. Peter suspects this is an apology for more than one thing, but what happened between them is a conversation for  _ later _ . 

“I saw on the news that you died,” Peter says hoarsely. 

“Yeah. A lot of stuff happened with Hyperion, more than anyone really knows. It was too much, I decided I needed to disappear. Before Mars killed me for real,” Juno says, shrugging again. 

“I missed you so much,” Peter says, and it feels ridiculous and  _ childish  _ to say aloud, but it’s the truest thing he can think of. Every day since he saw that news stream, he had missed Juno. As if the very universe was darker and more bleak without his presence somewhere within it. “It was horrible, I. It’s been horrible, Juno.” Now, it seems, Peter’s body has finally rebelled against him completely, the first hot tears leaking from his eyes. 

Juno reaches over and gathers Peter against him, holding onto him tightly. Peter mashes his face into the side of Juno’s neck. 

“I’m sorry,” Juno says again and again, until they lapse into silence. Then, once Peter looks up at him, bleary eyed and face wet with tears, he smiles. “You changed your cologne.” 

Peter gives a wet laugh. “And you kept this stupid coat,” he plucks at a loose thread in Juno’s sleeve. 

“It’s comfortable,” Juno protests. 

“It’s hideous,” Peter replies, voice rough. 

“I’m so sorry. For everything,” Juno says. 

Peter shakes his head, wiping his face before settling again into Juno’s side. “Can we not do that conversation now? I think I need some time.” 

“Of course, Nureyev. Whatever you need,” Juno agrees quickly. Peter kicks off his shoes, leaning more firmly into Juno until he shifts and they both lay back on the rather narrow bed, folded against each other.

Juno sheds his own shoes and goes to take off his coat, but Peter grips him tighter. Juno smirks. “I thought you said you didn’t like it.” 

“I said it’s hideous. There’s a difference,” Peter disagrees. 

Juno laughs softly. “I really missed you, too, you know,” he says quietly, leaning his cheek against the crown of Peter’s head. Peter sighs, scooting a bit closer, clinging in a way that will no doubt be slightly mortifying in hindsight, but he can’t help it. He doesn’t want to help it, even. He wants to hold Juno so tightly, until his poor heart has a chance to put itself back together again. Until the pervasive ache in his stomach eases. Once he has that, he’ll consider letting go. 


End file.
